


(Don't) Lay Our Love to Rest

by BuffyRowan



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bittersweet, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Spoilers for Season 3 episode 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 11:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7682074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffyRowan/pseuds/BuffyRowan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan mourn, and come to a realization</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Don't) Lay Our Love to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Again, spoilers for season 3 episode 9, "The Prize". Do not proceed if you have not seen it and do not want to be spoiled. 
> 
> That said,Aramis says "first shot" because it is the first shot he saw, the actual first shot in the back happened before Aramis and Athos rode up. As for details of the coin, well.  Such love tokens did exist, but any details about livre coins are made up by me. Title taken from the lyrics of "All for Love" from the soundtrack to the 1993 movie "The Three Musketeers". I took only very minor liberties with the scene in the episode.

Aramis returned fire automatically.  The ringing in his ears drowned out the sound of his own shots, Athos' yell, everything.  He saw the first shot hit Treville as if in slow motion, the old soldier having taken down three of the assassins already, but too many left to fight still.  Then the second shot, and Treville was down.  

Aramis ran to Treville's side, hoping, praying that there would be something he could do, some hope to save the gruff man who had been his commander and near-father these past years.  But it only took a glance to see that there was nothing he could do, nothing but cradle Treville's head in his lap, to strip off his leather gloves to offer the comfort of gentle hands to ease the final moments.  He dimly registered D'Artangnan hitting his knees next to him, Athos standing over them all. 

It tore at Aramis' heart that Treville struggled so to force out the two words, though it also reassured him.  Treville was a man of duty to the end, more concerned over the safety of the young king than his own life.  Aramis was afraid that Treville had used his last breath to ask it, but the Captain looked over, as if someone stood next to Athos, and it was only because he was so close that he heard the thready whisper, barely more than a breath, "Armand . . ." as Treville's hand twitched as if to reach out.  And then those blue eyes closed forever.

*     *     *

They didn't go to a bar.  There would be no getting stupid drunk tonight, no matter how much any of them wished to wash away the memories and feelings.  Because tomorrow they would be carrying Treville's coffin from the cathedral to his grave, and they would not disrespect him in front of those who would be attending the funeral by being hungover.  Since he had the largest rooms, Athos had invited the others over to share a bottle of wine or two in memory of their former captain.

Even Porthos was quiet, reserved.  He'd demanded the task of clearing Treville's quarters, Athos thought it was out of guilt that he'd not been able to do more to help Treville.  Porthos had taken D'Artagnan with him, and both had come this evening far more somber than they'd been.

"There should have been more."  Porthos broke the silence that had fallen over them, "I mean, he was Captain of the Musketeers, he was bloody First Minister . . . But I knew whores in the Court of Miracles had more in their cribs."

D'Artagnan shook his head sadly, "His clothes, two spare pairs of boots, but other than the necessities, there really wasn't much.  I'd have thought he'd have had a few impractical gifts from Louis, at least, or some family heirloom."

Athos couldn't say that he smiled, exactly, but something like it, "He was a career soldier, old habits are hard to break for some.  Always ready to pack up and march the moment orders came in."

"Well, no matter how much he lacked in material goods, at least the Captain was loved."  The younger man had been silent most of the day, but he seemed to have found his tongue now, "I found something in his rooms, looked like a lover's token.  But I never heard of him courting someone, or having a mistress.  Was he a widower?"

Athos hesitated, but answered, "He was never married, and I never heard of him having a mistress . . . but I believe he must have had someone.  Had, that is."

Aramis cocked an eyebrow, "Oh?  What makes you say 'had'?"

The older musketeer stared thoughtfully into his cup.  "Because I recognized his grief.  He was quieter, he didn't join his men for drinks as often, but when he did he drank more than he ever used to.  I saw the pain in his eyes, because I'd seen that same grief in my own after my wife . . ."

D'Artagnan pulled something out of his belt pouch and hesitated, before setting it on the table.  Athos picked it up, studying the simple wooden cross.  It was well carved, of beautiful wood, strung on a sturdy leather cord.  The more interesting part was the half a livre that had been pierced to hang with it.  The back side had been smoothed down and engraved with double flaming hearts.  The coin had been cut to leave one heart on each half, a poignant symbol of love and devotion.  D'Artagnan apparently took his friends' silence for censure, "I thought . . . he should be buried with it."

Aramis gripped his shoulder, "A fine and noble sentiment, my friend."  A thoughtful look passed across his face, "Though I wonder about who this love might have been."  It was Aramis' turn to stare into his wine as if it held the answers to all the questions in life.  He darted glances at his fellow musketeers, licked his lips, hesitated, then spoke.  "We have all seen it, someone who was near death seeing a loved one who had already passed on."  Athos and Porthos nodded, it was one of the harder parts of being a soldier sometimes, to listen to a dying comrade speak to a person who was not--could not--be there.  "At the end, he spoke a name . . . perhaps it was his lover's.  But if asked by anyone outside this room, Treville's last words were to ask after the king."  There was a fierceness in his face and voice in that last sentence, protective of his former commanding officer.

"Aramis, mate, what are you saying?"  Porthos demanded of his friend.

"It was a man's name."

D'Artagnan was the first to speak, "Perhaps it was a fellow soldier?"

"That . . . would fit. I first noticed the change in him around the events with de Foix," Athos spoke slowly, consideringly.

Porthos slowly drew a small pouch out from inside his tunic, "But if that was Treville's cross and his half the token . . ." He spoke reluctantly as he opened the pouch and poured the contents out onto the table next to the first. "Then whose is this?"

The half token bounced, landing so that it nearly matched against its mate. The cross gleamed in the candlelight, a thing of beauty too fine for the rough table it lay on. It was pure gold, with what they were all sure were real rubies, strung on a fine chain. Aramis picked it up with the reverence such fine workmanship deserved, "This . . . was not the Captain's. As commander of the Musketeers or as First Minister he might have been able to afford it, but he would not have bought this. Above all else he was a practical man, and this is far too delicate for his tastes."

Athos stared at the cross, picking it up when Aramis set it down, turning it to catch the light. The four fell into silence, considering this piece of their comrade's life. Porthos and Aramis quietly examined the token, flipping it to look at the face of the coin. It turned out not to be just any livre, but one specially minted to commemorate Louis' coronation. Athos listened to them discuss it, and reexamined the golden cross.

When Athos spoke, it was barely a whisper, "The name . . . it was Armand . . . was it not?"

Aramis was flabbergasted, "Was it a comrade, then? I don't remember any stories about an Armand that he served with in the army."

"That cross is much too fine for a soldier's pay," Athos shook his head. "The coin, it commemorates Louis taking the throne. An event that must have had significance to Treville and his lover, with a token innocuous enough not to arouse suspicion if found. What man of wealth was there at court who had as much invested in seeing Marie sent off in exile and Louis in his rightful place on the throne? With the given name of Armand? One who died or became as good as dead around that particular time?"

"You must be joking," Aramis was the first to come up with an answer. "How could you even suggest that, that, conniving, soulless bastard?"

"Wait, who are we talking about?" Porthos and D'Artagnan exchanged puzzled looks, neither having paid much attention to the given names of the various nobles rather than their titles.

Athos answered calmly, "The only name that I can come up with that fits all the criteria is Armand Jean du Plessis . . . du Richelieu."

"The Cardinal? Surely the Captain had better taste in men then /that/," Porthos argued.

Aramis shook his head, "Surely not. I mean, we don't know who that cross belonged to."

D'Artagnan frowned, staring at the cross, "Actually, I think Athos is right." He lifted his hands defensively when Aramis and Porthos shot him looks of disbelief, "I can't say for certain, alright? But I think, I mean, it looks like a cross I saw on Richelieu's desk, when I was asking him for protection after 'killing' Athos."

They were silent again after that. None of them seemed to know what to say in the face of the facts they faced. They refilled their glasses, and refilled again. Another round and they finished the bottle. D'Artagnan tossed back the last of his wine, and with similar brisk efficiency he scooped both crosses and love token up and dropped them into the little pouch. He purposefully made eye contact with each of the others, "It doesn't matter anymore, does it? They're both dead, beyond any judgement we may make of them. And honestly, even if they weren't, I'm not sure I'd care. I trusted Treville, and if he really did love Richelieu, then there must have been something worth loving. I'm going to make sure that these are buried with Treville, and when I pray for his soul, I will pray for his lover's as well, and hope that they are reunited in heaven. Treville deserves that happiness after a lifetime spent in duty, wouldn't you say?"

Athos reached out to gently grasp D'Artagnan's hand as he clutched the pouch and nodded once. Porthos shrugged with a wry grin and did the same. Aramis took a moment more, obviously wrestling with his feelings about the Cardinal versus his feelings for Treville, but eventually he did the same. In that moment, they made a silent pact that this would never be spoken of again. Like the topic of what exactly had happened in that convent while Aramis and Athos waited with the queen for Porthos and D'Artagnan to bring reinforcements, this would be a secret between them never to be betrayed.


End file.
